


Too Late Now

by LearnedFoot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy-centric, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, unrequited pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 02:33:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20332603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/pseuds/LearnedFoot
Summary: Draco isn’t sure what he should be feeling.





	Too Late Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mechanonymouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechanonymouse/gifts).

> Happy pining exchange!

It’s strange, to be graduating, finally, a year later than expected, and into a world that looks nothing like the one he prepared for all his life.

Draco isn’t sure what he should be feeling. The nostalgia for his Hogwarts days his father used to express is a laughable concept now. Anything Draco might have had to miss was swept away in the stink and sweat and fear of battle. But he’s not excited either, has no eagerness to step into the wider wizarding world. No one wants him there.

Mostly what he feels is nothing, just an empty hollow in his chest. This is over, onto the next thing, not because he wants to but because what else is there to do? One foot in front of the other: he can walk like a ghost through whatever comes next just like he did during this final, torturous year at the school he had, as a child, though he was going to rule.

(Once upon a time, he had planned a trip around Europe after graduation. It was to be an extravagant vacation, he and Goyle. And Crabbe, of course. Not anymore.)

There are festivities happening at the castle, a party thrown by the faculty to celebrate finishing the year._ Finishing the year with no one dying_, more like, but no one is daring enough to say it out loud. Draco certainly isn’t going to; he’s been on the wrong side of enough sneers this year as it is. He skips the party and makes his way out to the far edge of the lake instead. It’s a glorious day, in the way the days around the end of the year always are, and he tries to appreciate it, throwing his head back and closing his eyes into the sun, letting it sink into his skin and attempting not to think.

He’s interrupted by a voice that makes his heart leap.

“Hi,” says Harry. “Mind if I join you?”

For a moment Draco’s breath catches and his pulse thuds in his ears, a sensation as familiar as it is unwelcome, a response to that voice, to that _person_, which he’s never been quite able to quell, despite years of trying. But it dies quickly, as the shock of recognition wears off.

That’s another thing that’s changed this year: whatever it is he used to feel about Harry—more accurately,_ all_ the things he used to feel about Harry, hatred and scorn and a tugging desire that kept him up at night in ways he didn’t want it to—has dulled. Not disappeared, not entirely, but faded to nothing but a faint awareness when he’s near, a spark of want flickering then dying every time they talk, which isn’t often. They are both past schoolboy taunts, and without that, what is there for them to say to each other?

“Yes,” he says derisively, out of habit more than actual derision, “I do mind.”

Harry sits anyway, because he’s Harry Potter. Being the savior of the wizarding world hasn’t helped with his tendency to think he gets to do whatever he wants. He doesn’t say anything though, just stares out at the lake, watching the giant squid wave a tentacle.

Draco takes the opportunity to look at him out of the corner of his eye. He’s spent more time than he likes to admit looking at Harry’s face over the years, and it’s definitely changed in the last one. Thinner, paler, if that’s even possible, big bruises under the eyes, as if he hasn’t yet recovered from the war. Maybe he hasn’t.

Once, Draco would have scoffed at the idea that there is anything hard about being the hero. He can conjure up the thought: _Harry is the one everyone worships, what right does he have to look like the world is beating him down? What does he have to complain about, compared to Draco, who’s had his entire life torn to shreds, money gone, friend dead, reputation shattered? _

He wonders how much attraction and jealousy were traveling hand-in-hand, back then. Now, though he can think the thought, he doesn’t really feel it. Instead, there’s a strange sense of kinship. War leaves its scars, simple as that. He understands.

“Well?” he finally asks. “Do you have something to say to me?”

Harry glances over, mouth pinching at his tone. “Who says I do?”

Draco rolls his eyes, gesturing around them. “If you don’t, there’s a whole wide lake for you to sit around. Pick a different spot.”

For a moment it looks like Harry is going to take him up on the offer, half rising, but then he shakes his head and sits down again. “We’re graduating today,” he says, dumbly.

“Yes, Potter. Very astute. I’m no longer amazed you passed the finale exams.” Draco isn’t sure why he’s taken that tone, except that maybe it’s the only one he knows how to use, with Harry. Maybe that was part of the problem. Maybe if he hadn’t been like that, something would have been different. With a sigh, he corrects himself. “Sorry. Habit.”

Harry accepts that with a nod. “I was just thinking: we might not see each other again. Not for a while, anyway.”

Draco holds back another sarcastic reply, something like, _And wouldn’t that be nice?_ He’s trying to improve, here. “So?”

“So, I thought…we never talked about it.”

Draco’s not sure what he expected, but it wasn’t that. He’s not even sure which “it” Harry is referring to. There could be so many: the bathroom, the tower, his home, Crabbe. Or maybe just everything, the years spent hating each other. And other emotions too, in Draco’s case. “I guess not. But why start now?”

He doesn’t mean it to be cruel, or harsh, he just means it to be true: Why? What’s the point?

Harry looks hurt, as if he expected Draco to be receptive to the overture, maybe even grateful. “Never mind,” he grumbles. But then he keeps talking anyway. “I just wanted to let you know I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t have bothered. You know, I really thought you’d changed.”

“Who says I haven’t? Just because I’m not bowing and licking your boots…” Draco stops himself. No. Wrong instincts to follow. “I’m sorry too, I guess.”

They lapse back into silence until Harry, quieter, adds, “Do you think things would’ve been different, if I’d accepted your friendship. Back then?”

Draco holds back a laugh. He’s thought about that question so many times, in so many different ways. So many different paths he once wished they could have gone down. Most were sheer fantasy. “I don’t know,” he says, honestly. “If you’d been in Slytherin, yes.”

“I’d have been in Gryffindor no matter what,” Harry insists. “But maybe…” He tugs at the grass, ripping a few strands free. “Hogwarts never really listened to the Sorting Hat about house unity.”

“You think if we’d been friends, we could have changed the whole school?” It’s a nice thought. It doesn’t seem very realistic.

“Yeah…friends.” Harry lingers over the word, then shrugs. “Crazier things have happened.”

For a brief moment, Draco can see it: he and Harry, hand-in-hand, making a grand speech that brought everyone to their feet and somehow, impossibly, averted disaster. As if a bunch of schoolchildren rising up together would have made a difference.

It's a vision that Harry Potter is sharing, and Draco doesn’t even care. He longs for the version of himself that would’ve thrilled at this conversation. The version that could still believe in childish dreams, that hadn’t had the part of himself that feels hope ripped from his body.

Of course, that version of him would have been too busy making sarcastic comments to get this far. Ironic.

“Well, too late now,” he says.

“Is it?” Harry asks, quiet, earnest.

“Yeah. The big battle already happened, in case you missed it.”

“I meant is it too late for us to be friends?” Again, a slight pause before he says the word. Interesting. “It doesn’t have to be.” And then, even more quietly than before, “There aren’t a lot of people who understand.”

For the first time, Draco looks him square in the face. From this angle, the bags under his eyes are even starker. “What makes you think I do?”

“I just have a feeling.” A slight blush rises up his cheeks.

Draco remembers a moment a few months ago, when he’d looked up from a potion he was working on to catch Harry staring at him. Harry had blinked and hastily looked away. Draco had assumed he was trying to cheat off him—Harry might not be as dumb as he seems, but he really isn’t much good at potions—but now, he wonders.

And keeps wondering as Harry stares at him, eyes betraying a hint of hope. And, maybe, _maybe_, a hint of something else Draco recognizes.

Maybe Harry had been looking for other reasons.

Or maybe not. Maybe that’s Draco’s imagination. The part of him that still clings to who he was _before_ trying to stir up hope that he has no interest in having. He shakes his head. He may be in need of friends, but he doesn’t need whatever it is Harry Potter is offering him. Doesn’t want it, anymore.

He’d spent years hating him and longing for him in equal measure because he seemed so different, so unlike what Draco was. Now, though, they might just be too similar.

War leaves its scars, and he doesn’t need someone else’s to deal with.

“No thanks.” He extends his hand. “But I don’t hate you anymore, either. Truce?”

Harry looks a little sad, but he takes the offered hand. “Truce,” he agrees, shaking it. “But if you ever change your mind…”

“I’ll let you know,” Draco says, to be nice. But he knows he won’t.

He still doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be feeling, but he knows this: whatever happens next, he’s done with the part of his life that was consumed by Harry Potter.


End file.
